


Kelly and the Unsuitable Boy

by honey_wheeler



Series: The Paper-Sellers Club [4]
Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin, The Office (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:58:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kelly might give up the PSC...and it’s all Ryan’s fault!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kelly and the Unsuitable Boy

**Author's Note:**

> _The cast of characters:_  
>  **Pam Beesly** as Mary Anne Spier, shy doormat with a controlling father  
>  **Angela Martin** as Kristy Thomas, bossy leader and big-idea-haver  
>  **Kelly Kapoor** as Claudia Kishi, ethnic member and phone-owner  
>  **Katy** as Stacey McGill, fluffy-haired, boy-crazy diabetic  
>  **Karen Fillipelli** as Dawn Schafer, Connecticut girl and individualistic individual  
>  **Jim Halpert** as Logan Bruno, boy paper seller with a dreamy accent  
>  **Michael Scott** as Alan Grey, SMS pest-in-residence  
>  **Ryan Howard** as Ashley Wyeth, bad influence and new kid in town

Okay, here’s the thing: I’m not what you would call “smart.” I don’t get good grades, I can’t spell, and I don’t really know anything about, like, the Constitutional Convention or Sacajawea or long division. But I _do_ know facts, and the fact is that I’m pretty awesome. Now, I know what you’re saying, okay? You’re like, Kelly, you cannot call yourself awesome even if it’s true, because it’s conceited and boys don’t like girls who are stuck up. And you just made a totally valid point, so congratulations! But I’m giving you the background here – the data, if you will – so you can understand my theory. And my theory is this: I think I might be too awesome.

I know it sounds arrogant. Like, who do I think I am, right? But let’s look at things objectively: I’m cute. I’m creative and artistic. I have unbelievably glossy hair, perfect skin that’s never seen a pimple, doe-like eyes, and a totally fierce sense of style that allows me to _Project Runway_ it up and make a wicked outfit using only a leotard, a colander, a pair of galoshes, and some saran wrap. I am up to date on current events and I can tell you who Cam Geary is dating or which Olsen twin is anorexic and which one only _looks_ like she is. Now I’m no genius at math like my best friend Katy or anything, but I know my multiplication, and all those things add up to awesome. And let’s face it, people are easily intimidated by awesomeness.

But wait, I’ve gotten ahead of myself. My name is Kelly Kapoor. I’m 13 and I live in Scranton, Pennsylvania. I’m Indian-American which makes me and my parents, like, the only brown people in Scranton. My parents came here from India before I was born. I don’t know why they couldn’t have picked somewhere hip and cool like New York or San Francisco. I guess it’s because they’re deeply boring people and deeply boring people go to Scranton, Pennsylvania. I’m in the 8th grade at Scranton Middle School. And, as previously demonstrated, I’m pretty cool for an eighth-grader. Heck, I’m pretty cool for a high school junior if you consider my art skills, which include puffy painting _and_ making friendship bracelets out of embroidery floss.

So you’d think a girl that cool would have hundreds of friends, right? WRONG. Not hundreds of friends, not even tens of friends. And forget the loads of boys I should have all desperate to be my boyfriend. No, all I’ve got are my equally awesome best friend Katy and our three kinda loserish friends (I’m sorry, but it’s true and friends are honest with each other), Angela Martin, Pam Beesley, and Karen Fillipelli. Oh, but I do have the Paper-Sellers Club, except I can never decide if that’s a good thing to have or a horrible thing to have.

And what _is_ the Paper-Sellers Club, you ask? Good question! It’s exactly what it sounds like. I know, right? Selling paper, yuck. And I’m sure you’re saying to yourself, Kelly, you are way too cute and fantastic to do something that nerdy. You’re right, I am. And yet…there I was. Standing on my desk chair and rummaging around on the top shelf of my closet for a packet of Wheat Thins I know I stashed up there for Katy and Karen. Angela cleared her throat disapprovingly from her director’s chair and helped herself from the bucket of sugar cubes I’d already set out for the rest of us to snack on during our Monday meeting.

“They’re late,” she grumbled as she selected a sugar cube and glared at it before nibbling at the edges. Angela always pretends she doesn’t approve of junk food, but she’s the first to get her hands in there when I bring out the Little Debbies, I can tell you that. Disapproving of things is Angela’s favorite thing to do. She’s been like that as long as I can remember. She and Pam and I grew up together. Angela lived right across the street up until her mother met a crazy guy named Creed Bratton who’s, like, a brazillionaire. They got married and the whole family, Angela and her mother and her three brothers, all moved to the fancy rich part of town to live in his mansion. Even back when we were kids Angela spent a lot of time crossing her arms and refusing to have fun. I think she has abandonment issues about her Dad leaving when she was so young, so now she feels like she has to be proper and perfect to make him come back. Or maybe she’s just an uptight no-fun stick-in-the-mud. It’s hard to say.

Actually, she’s kind of loosened up a teeny, tiny bit now that she’s in some crazy secret relationship with this equally uptight and weird guy named Dwight K. Schrute (and believe me, if you forget the K, he’ll remind you). He is way nerdy; he carries a briefcase and wears a short-sleeved dress shirt and a tie to coach softball games. Angela met him when their teams played each other. He coaches a team called Dwight’s Destructivators in her fake softball league. Look, I’m sorry, but it’s totally fake – there are actual children in diapers on her team, which is called Angela’s Annihilators. They’re terrible. I like going to their games because it’s super fun to watch Angela lose her cool when Andy Bernard, the clumsiest kid on the team (and probably in Scranton), accidentally maims yet another teammate. So far this year he’s broken one wrist, poked two eyes, sprained four ankles, and made one kid temporarily lose his sense of taste. But lately Angela’s spent less time during the games yelling at Andy, and more time calling emergency coach meetings with Dwight where they huddle behind the dugout and pretend no one can see them fondling each other’s clipboards. Dwight even calls sometimes during our meetings with bogus paper orders. Somehow Angela always knows which rings are his – he calls at a prearranged time or his ring sounds way dorkier than normal or something, I don’t know – and she’ll snatch up the phone and say things like, “Yes, sir,” and “I’d be happy to,” and “I agree with the things you are saying and I feel them as well.” I don’t know who she thinks she’s kidding, but if it makes her happy and keeps her out of my hair, I’m all for it.

I glanced at the clock: 5:31pm. We’re supposed to meet at my house every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 5:30 to 6:00, so clients who need paper can call us. Why they would wait until 5:30 on a Wednesday to call if they ran out of legal at 2:30 on a Tuesday instead of just going down to OfficeMax is beyond me, but whatever. Lots of lazy people in Scranton. Which is why the PSC works, I guess. They call, we deliver paper. It’s pretty simple. But don’t tell Angela that; it was her big brainchild and if you asked her, she would tell you that it’s an intricate machine and blah blah boring. That’s why she’s the President, both because she came up with the idea and because she’s super interested in things that are blah blah boring. I’m Vice-President, because I have my own phone line and people can call without annoying my parents. There’s not much else to being VP than that. Oh, except providing snacks. See, I’m a total junk food junkie and I always have a huge supply of cookies and Ho-hos and lard on hand. The worse it is for me, the better I like it. But my parents don’t approve of junk food or even snacking between meals, so I have to hide my stash all over my room. That’s why I was still pawing through the shoes on the floor of my closet, searching for those Wheat Thins, when the door swung open and Pam Beesley slipped in, glancing nervously at Angela. Angela’s a pain in the ass about punctuality. It’s like her favorite word or something.

“You are…one minute and 13 seconds late, Pam,” Angela announced, looking at her watch. Pam sighed and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of my bed.

“It will never, ever happen again,” she told Angela. As soon as Angela bent her head to scribble in her notebook (marking Pam’s permanent record, no doubt), Pam caught my eye and made a face. Pam’s pretty okay, actually. She’s really sweet and shy and a good student. She’s the first person you should ask if you missed class and need a copy of someone’s notes, since she always pays attention and has nice penmanship (which is also why she’s our secretary and keeps all our meeting minutes and client notebooks). Sure, she’s not as fashionable as me and Katy, especially since she spent her childhood being dressed by her restrictive and style-deficient father who made her wear pigtails and jumpers and corduroy all the time until he loosened up. But she’s actually started wearing some almost cool clothes since she got a boyfriend. Which still amazes, me, actually. Shy little Pam was the first of us paper-sellers to snag a boyfriend! And a super cute, funny, awesome boyfriend too, a boy from Massachusetts named Jim Halpert. I wish I had a boyfriend like Jim. But not quite as tall. Pam practically has to have a stepladder to kiss him, and that doesn’t seem very efficient to me. My ideal boyfriend would be four to six inches taller than me, so that we could comfortably smooch and still look good in prom photos.

“Sugar cubes in the bowl,” I said to Pam.

“Oh good, my favorite!” Pam exclaimed and grabbed a handful. I made a pile of the shoes I’d already searched. Boots would be the most likely location for a sleeve of crackers, but I’d come up with zip so far.

“How’s Jim?” I asked, turning my attention to my hat collection. Those crackers had to be _somewhere_.

“He’s great,” she said in a dreamy voice. “He got a haircut and he looks even more like Cam Geary than ever.” Angela made a snorting sound. She thinks Cam Geary is a no-talent pretty-boy. That’s because Angela is a no-taste prig. Just then I found the crackers lurking in the pocket of my favorite Guatemalan poncho.

“Aha, found ‘em!” I cried, just as my bedroom door opened and Katy and Karen walked in.

“Found what?” Karen asked.

“Your snacks,” I answered. I handed the crackers to Katy, who grabbed a handful and tossed the package to Karen. She caught them expertly (Karen’s pretty sporty – if someone threw a bunch of crackers at me I’d shriek and cover my face) and moved to sit next to Pam. She and Pam are best friends. Actually, Pam and Angela are best friends too, but you’d never guess it from the way they act with each other. I think their friendship is based mostly on guilt and habit and some sort of weird, non-sexual, sub/dom vibe. Angela’s the dom, obviously. But Karen and Pam get along really well, so I can buy that BFF-ness.

Karen just moved here a little while ago from Connecticut. She always says she’s a Stamford girl at heart. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean, since I’ve been to Stamford and it wasn’t very nice. Their mall didn’t even have a Wet Seal. Unless everyone from Stamford is a crazy hippie health food freak, because that’s totally what Karen is. She never cuts her hair and she eats tofu and bean paste and, like, curd or whatever. It’s gross. She’s part of the reason I was searching endlessly for those stupid crackers. She won’t eat the usual junk food like the rest of us. Like, I’m sorry that tootsie pops don’t come in bean sprout flavors, okay? But I’m nice, so I keep stuff around that she can eat so she won’t feel left out.

And the crackers weren’t just for her. Katy – who, as you’ll remember, is my best friend – is diabetic, so she can’t even lick a Jolly Rancher or she’ll have a seizure and die in four seconds flat. It’s totally true, I heard about that happening to a diabetic kid once. So I’m always really careful to have crackers and popcorn and stuff for Katy, because if she had a seizure and died I wouldn’t have anyone to go shopping and trade makeup tips with.

Katy is hands-down the most sophisticated girl at SMS. Her hair is always perfect and fluffy and she wears the coolest outfits. Like, today she was wearing a skirt made out of ties, a tube top, and a pair of pants on her arms like a shrug. No other girl at school can make an outfit work like Katy. I come close, but my vibe is more boho-creative. And not only is Katy stylish, she’s also a crazy math genius. That’s why she’s the club treasurer. She’s super popular with boys, but she’s so sophisticated that she won’t date boys our own age and prefers older men. Currently she’s dating Roy, Angela’s older brother, something Angela refuses to acknowledge because she thinks Katy’s whorish.

“Everybody’s late,” Angela said as soon as everyone had settled down.

“Oh, get over it,” Katy told her calmly, pulling her feet up underneath her on the bed. “Why are you always so uptight?”

“Why are you always so loose?” Angela snapped in return.

“Okay, okay!” Pam cried, holding her hands out. She always ends up being the peacemaker. “Let’s just start the meeting, all right?” Sure enough, just as she said it the phone rang, and we spent the next twenty minutes busy with phone calls and new orders.

“Last order of business,” Angela said, briskly shuffling papers on her clipboard and adjusting her visor (that visor is so gross – I keep telling her it makes her look like a lesbian golfer, but she won’t listen to me so hey, her funeral). “Friday, as you know, is our quarterly bonding event-slash-sleepover. Now it’s no secret that I disapprove of childish slumber party activities like giggling and talking about boys and freezing someone’s underwear.” She fixed Katy with the evil eye at that point, since Katy not only froze Angela’s underwear last time, but her entire wardrobe. Katy shrugged defiantly.

“But nonetheless,” Angela continued. “It’s a good team-building exercise, so you should all be at the mansion at 7:30 pm sharp. Dinner will be provided. Bring your own toothbrushes, sleeping bags, and morals. Meeting dismissed!”

“Kelly!” my mother called up the stairs. “Jim is here for Pam!” We all looked at Pam curiously.

“He’s here to walk me home,” she said sheepishly.

“You live next door,” Karen pointed out. Pam’s cheeks were as pink as my favorite cowboy hat.

“He doesn’t like me walking home alone when it gets dark,” she muttered. Angela rolled her eyes.

“That is _so_ sweet,” I gushed.

“Bye guys, see you tomorrow!” She got to her feet and slipped out the door. We heard her feet thundering down the stairs. I rushed to the door and peaked downstairs. Jim greeted her with an adorable grin. She leaned over and hugged him when she was still two steps above him and he picked her up and spun her around so her feet didn’t even touch the floor. It was seriously so cute I could have died. I shut the door with a sigh and flopped down on my bed.

“You guuuys, how come I don’t have a boyfriend?” I whined. Angela opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “It was a rhetorical question, Angela.”

“You need to stop obsessing,” Karen said. “Focus on finding your center and letting go of desire. Let it come to you.”

“What, Zen dating?” I scoffed. Please. Karen didn’t have a boyfriend either, what did she know?

“You show too much skin, that’s what your problem is,” Angela decided. “And you’re not serious enough.”

“Oh, that’s totally what it is,” Katy said sarcastically. “Except, wait, boys love skin, so no. No, you need to read _The Rules_ , Kel. Dating is warfare. It’s all about strategy.” I nodded.

“I think maybe what I need to do is be proactive,” I mused. “I am an awesome girl and that can be intimidating to boys. I have to take the initiative. I have to put myself out there, y’know? I have to go after my goals.”

“Totally,” Katy said.

“How’re you going to do that?” Karen asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Personal ads, maybe?” The sound of a car horn came from the street. It was Angela’s older brother Mark coming to pick her up. She stood and glanced out the window.

“Ugh, Roy is with him,” she said. Katy’s head shot up. She scrambled to her feet and stuck her head out the window, calling and waving at the rusty old heap that was Mark’s car. She pulled her head back inside and turned to Angela.

“You’re giving me a ride,” she announced, grabbing Angela by the elbow and steering her out the door.

“I am doing no such thing! Get your trampy mitts off me!” Angela barked. Katy ignored her and herded her out the door. Angela clomped down the stairs, complaining loudly the whole way as Katy leaned back in the doorway.

“We’ll talk about this personals thing tomorrow,” she told me before calling to Angela over her shoulder. “Angela, don’t you dare leave without me!”

“You two are not sitting together in the backseat again, we just had the upholstery cleaned from last time!” Angela’s voice said from the hall downstairs.

“Oh, whatever, Miss Priss. Bye guys!” Katy said. “Oh, and Kelly, call my dad and tell him not to pick me up.”

*****

“Wow, I never knew personal ads were so gross,” Pam said. She and Katy had come over the next day after school to help me in my quest to be proactive and find a boyfriend. It was feeling kind of urgent, since there was a dance coming up and the last thing I wanted to do was spend another dance tagging along with my friends and their boyfriends.

“Creepy old man again?” Katy asked. Pam nodded, looking kind of disgusted. She was searching online while Katy and I scanned the paper.

“Hey, that one looks good,” I said, pointing to a promising ad and reading the headline. “Smart, funny guy looking for a lovely young lady.” Katy shook the paper out and looked closer.

“Wait, no, he’s looking for a lovely young lady to wear a French maid outfit and spank him.”

“Guh-ross.” So far the personals had been highly disappointing.

“Yikes,” Pam said, looking at the laptop screen with wide eyes.

“What?”

“Well let’s just say I’m all grown up now,” she answered, closing the laptop with a snap. “I don’t think I want to look at personals anymore, you guys.”

“What am I going to do?” I asked them with a sigh. “This is not a good way to find a boyfriend at all.” There was a knock on the door, then.

“It’s probably Jim,” Pam said. “We’re going to the movies later.”

“Come in!” I called. Jim walked into the room, leaving the door open behind him.

“You can close it,” I told him, but he shook his head.

“No I can’t,” he said. “Your mom told me not to and she looked kind of scary when she said it. I’m pretty sure she could take me in a fight.”

I grimaced. “She’s so old-fashioned.”

“So how goes the search for love?” Jim asked as he settled himself on the floor next to Pam.

“Not so good,” I told him.

“Mostly we never want to look at our bodies again,” Pam said. She set the laptop on my desk. “I don’t think Kelly’s destined to find love online.”

“Or in the newspaper,” Katy added. We were balling up the papers and throwing them in the trash when my mother came into the room with a basket full of clean laundry.

“What are you all up to then?” she asked, fixing Jim with a suspicious glare as she transferred the laundry to my dresser.

“Finding Kelly a date,” Jim told her, doing his best to look proper and respectful. My parents are both big on proper. It’s totally annoying.

“Why don’t you go out with Vali?” my mother clucked. “Such a nice Indian boy.”

I made a face. “Ugh, no. He wears _Dockers_.” My mother sighed like I was a huge disappointment.

“Why can’t you be more like your sister Pinky was?” she asked. “She was an obedient child, she listened to her mother. And she was so good at her studies!” My older sister Pinky was a super genius and totally good at math and history and brown-nosing – all things I’m terrible at. She died a little while ago in a freak Bunsen burner accident during a routine science club meeting, which makes me think I’m on the right track for not liking science _or_ Bunsen burners. She was also a huge nerd, but old people don’t understand things like nerdiness, so my parents always thought Pinky was cool and didn’t understand why I couldn’t try to be just like her. No matter how often I explained the concept of social suicide, they didn’t get it.

“I am _not_ dating a boy who wears Dockers,” I said firmly. My mother sighed again and headed back downstairs, warning us that we better keep the door open.

“What about guys at school?” Jim asked after she’d gone. “Any non-Dockers-wearing guys you’d date there?”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know, like-”

“Wait!” I interrupted him. “We should make a list with pros and cons. Pam, could you take notes?” She grabbed her club notebook off my desk and flipped to the blank pages at the back.

“Okay,” I said. “Who are the potentials?”

“What about Hunter?” Jim asked.

“Hmm,” I said. “Let’s see. Pros: hot and in a band. Cons: younger than me and kind of jerky.” Katy cleared her throat violently. “And he told everyone that Katy was easy,” I added and she nodded grimly. Pam hesitated and then underlined the word “jerky” twice.

“Oscar Martinez?” Katy offered. “Pros: cute and funny.”

“And he likes awesome movies,” I added. “But he seems a little too into talking about boys with me, if you know what I mean.”

“Ooh, con,” Katy said.

“Kevin Malone,” Pam said. “Pros?”

“He’s always nice to me,” I answered.

“And he’s in a band, too,” Jim said.

“He’s in a Police _cover_ band,” Katy said. “Totally a con. And he looks like he sweats a lot.”

“It’s true, he does look like that,” I agreed.

“You guys, don’t be mean!” Pam protested.

“It’s not mean if it’s true, Pam,” Katy told her patiently.

“How about Michael Scott?” Jim asked with a sideways grin.

“Pros: none,” Katy said immediately.

“Cons: everything else,” I finished.

“I’m…not gonna write him down,” Pam said.

“Oh, hey, how about that new guy?” Jim said, turning to face me. “Ryan Howard. He’s in your English class, I think.”

“Ooh, you mean that hot new guy with the great butt and the bluest eyes on the planet?” I asked eagerly. “ _That_ new guy?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have put it _that_ way,” Jim said, making a face, “but yeah. He thinks you’re cute.”

“Ohmigod, are you _serious_? If you are pulling my leg I will _kill_ you, Jim Halpert, does he really think I’m cute, how do you know, tell me everything!”

“He told me in gym class the other day,” Jim assured me. “Definitely thinks you’re cute.” The girls and I glanced at each other.

“Pros?” Katy asked.

“Totally cute, blue eyes, almost the perfect height for smooching and prom photos,” I answered immediately.

“Cons?” Pam countered.

“None known,” I said. I looked at them to see what they thought. Both of them looked like they kind of wished they didn’t have boyfriends so _they_ could go after him.

“That settles it,” I declared. “Tomorrow I am going to be proactive all over Ryan Howard.”

*****

The first step to being proactive, and indeed the first step to many things, is the proper outfit. Clothing can make or break you. Many things in life have been ruined by a lackluster outfit. You have to commit to your clothing, you have to be ambitious, a risk-taker.

Which is why I’d taken so long with my outfit that day. And it was a good one, if I do say so myself. I was wearing this cute, vintage suit that I’d dug out of the back of my mom’s closet (apparently she was sort of a dish back in the day, which makes it all the more depressing that she’s a fashion failure now). It had an amazing Jackie O vibe, and I figured if anyone knew how to get her man, it was Jackie O. So I paired it with a pillbox hat and these giant white sunglasses that I found in the vintage shop on Linden. The sunglasses were super dark, though, so I kept bumping into things. But hey, it’s a small price to pay for style.

I must have stopped in the girl’s bathroom twenty times before 7th period. Fashion requires constant vigilance. You never know when your bangs have gone flat or you’ve got lipstick on your teeth, and you can’t recover from that kind of thing. Just after 6th period I ducked into the bathroom one last time for a quick touch-up.

“Kelly,” I said to my reflection. “This is it. You are good enough, you are fly enough, and doggone it, he is going to like you.” Satisfied, I fluffed my hair and adjusted my hat, then headed to class.

My English teacher was some hippie-dippy lady named Ms. Fleming who was at Woodstock and everything. She didn’t like to stifle our inner creativity with assigned seating, which worked out really well for me since I could try to sit right by Ryan. By the time I got to class, only the seat behind him was open and Cokie Mason was headed right for it. I blocked her path and gave her the kind of look I usually reserve for things like cockroaches and home perms.

“Do it and die, Mason,” I threatened. I must have looked serious, because she backed off and went to sit on the other side of the room. I sailed down the row, trying to look proactive and bewitching at the same time. Ryan was hunched down over his phone at his desk, punching at the keys. I paused in front of him to give him time to notice me in my cute outfit, which, by the way, made my legs look especially shapely and alluring. I had to clear my throat, but when he looked up and stared at me, it was worth it.

“Hi, Ryan,” I said with a brilliant smile. He gave me a crooked smile in return.

“Hi, Cathy.” Well. It was close, at least.

“Kelly,” I corrected, not letting my smile slip.

“Right, Kelly,” he said. I touched his arm as I pretended to squeeze by in the narrow aisle.

“Excuse me.” I took the opportunity to test his bicep. “Wow, do you work out?” He looked flattered, but before he could answer, Ms. Fleming called for everyone to sit down and started rambling on about symbolism in _The Once and Future King_. Not that I paid attention to it. I usually didn’t pay attention in class (paying attention – much like spelling – was for people who didn’t have anything better to do), but I normally would have been scribbling down possible names for my future children or sketching outfits. Today I used the time to carefully study the back of Ryan’s head. His hair was really nice, all healthy and styled. I’m pretty sure I saw a thing of pomade in his back pocket, too. _Pro: cares about himself and about looking good_. He stretched his arms above his head and I got a whiff of Drakkar. I was just leaning closer so I could inhale deeply when the bell rang. Studying Ryan made class go by a lot faster, for some reason. He didn’t get up right away. He was fiddling with his phone again, so I slowly trailed out of the classroom and to my locker.

I made sure I lingered there for a while, to give him a chance to walk by. I figured I’d have to try to get his attention again. Boys take a couple of tries to get things, sometimes. To my surprise, just as I was readjusting my magnetic locker mirror to the perfect, rakish angle, he leaned up against the locker next to mine.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” I said. _Be cool, Kelly, be cool,_ I told myself.

“Um. Do you have the reading assignment? I was checking my stock portfolio on my blackberry when Ms. Fleming gave it out and I missed it.”

“Oh, um. Sure.” I dug my notebook out from the bottom of my backpack, hoping against hope that I hadn’t lost my head and written _Mrs. Kelly Kapoor-Howard_ somewhere in the margins.

“Yeah, my high yield fund is going through the roof,” he continued as I made a quick scan of my notebook and decided it was clean. I held out the page with the reading assignment and he punched it into his blackberry. “Boy, am I glad I diversified!”

“Good idea,” I said, even though I had no idea what he was talking about. I flipped my hair over my shoulder in a move that I knew showed how glossy and full it was. “So you’ve got stocks, huh? That’s pretty impressive.”

“I like to keep the money from my paper route earning. Do you have a job?” I blinked at him. Most boys asked if I had an iPod or a curfew, not a job.

“Yeah, sort of,” I answered. “I’m a member of the Paper-Sellers Club. People call us and we, uh, sell and deliver paper all over town. So…it’s kind of a paper route!” I laughed, but he didn’t join in and my laugh faded.

“Oh,” he said, disappointment clear in his voice.

“What?”

“I just think selling paper over the phone is kind of babyish, that’s all.”

“Babyish?” I asked slowly, feeling my stomach sink.

“Yeah, it’s kind of like selling lemonade on the side of the street or babysitting or something. It’s not a _real_ job, is it?”

“You better not let Angela hear you say that!” I said with a fake laugh. I was feeling worse by the second. I wanted him to think I was cool and sophisticated, not babyish!

“A paper route, now _that’s_ something,” he continued as if I hadn’t said anything. “That takes know-how. I use my dad’s laptop to balance all of my accounts and streamline the delivery process so that every minute I spend on it is efficient. I even have a Paypal account set up so my clients can pay on my website and we never have to meet face-to-face. RyanHowardInfinity.com. It’s the business model of the future.”

“Wow,” was all I could say. I’ve only ever used the internet to google cute boys and figure out how to un-jam a glue gun when it’s got a glitter pen stuck in the barrel. _Pro: super smart and motivated._

“I know,” he answered, then started backing down the hallway. “Hey, so thanks for the assignment. Maybe I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Um, sure, totally,” I said. I clutched my notebook to my chest and watched him until he turned the corner. I couldn’t believe it. This proactive thing was right on. I should write a book.

*****

“Kelly, where do you keep the molasses?” Katy’s voice drifted out from the back of my closet. She’d come over early before our Wednesday meeting to see how it went with Ryan. I’d been lying on my bed since I got home, alternating rounds of squealing with bouts of insecurity. I certainly hadn’t been finding snacks, which is why Katy was digging through the winter sweaters in search of food.

“Never mind that, help me parse this: ‘maybe I’ll talk to you tomorrow’. Now was he saying that hopefully?” I wondered. “Was it with forceful intent? Do you think that means he wants to date me? I should check his astrological chart.”

“Do you even know his birthday?” she asked, her voice muffled by argyle.

“Good point.” I rolled on to my stomach and propped my chin on my fist. “I should get a full reading done for him when I find out. Or I guess I could just look in Cosmo.”

“Okay, I’ve found chili sauce, Goobers, and powdered doughnuts, but no molasses,” Katy said as she crawled out of the closet and deposited everything on my desk. The door swung open and Angela marched in, her ponytail swinging officiously.

“I am not eating chili sauce and doughnuts,” she announced, plopping herself down in the director’s chair.

“Ugh, fine.” I leaned over and rummaged under my bed. “Here, pretzels, garlic bread, and a pack of Twizzlers, take your pick.”

“I call pretzels,” Karen said as she walked in with Pam. Angela glanced at the clock – 5:29 – and pursed her lips. She hated it when she couldn’t yell at someone for being late.

Turned out we all could have been late and it wouldn’t have made much difference. It was a slow night. We only got two calls – Mr. Hudson wanting another case of Astrobright, Mr. Flenderson needing more custom letterhead. Otherwise the phone was quiet and we mostly chatted.

“So do you think he’s going to ask you out?” Karen asked, digging another handful of pretzels out of the bag and flicking off the salt, which I didn’t get. What’s the point of pretzels without salt? Pretzels alone are useless. Their primary purpose is as a salt-conveyor, everyone knows that.

“I don’t know,” I told her. “I hope so.”

“You’re going to wait around for him to ask you out?” Katy asked. “Not very proactive.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked her. “I can’t very well call _him_.”

“Can’t you?” Katy asked with a grin. She picked up the phone, ignoring Angela’s protests that it was still business hours, and held it out towards me. “Go on, call him, try to sell him some paper,” she said, wiggling the phone at me. “It’s the proactive thing to do.”

“Really?” I asked. She nodded and I took the phone from her hand. Pam grabbed the school directory from my desk and paged to the Hs. She dialed the number and I clutched the phone in my hand nervously.

The phone rang twice before he picked up. “Ryan Howard speaking.” I had to clear my throat before I could talk. Katy leaned in so she could hear.

“Um, hi. Is this Ryan?” I said it out of habit, without even thinking. Katy smacked her forehead with her palm.

“I…think we established that,” he said. I felt like a total idiot.

“Right, sorry. Um, this is Kelly. From English class?”

“Oh right. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I know you mentioned your business,” I said. “So, uh. I’m in the Paper-Sellers Club, remember? I’m calling to see if we can fulfill any of your paper needs.”

“Ah, yeah, see, I’m paperless,” he said.

“You’re what?”

“Paperless. Everything’s done online, no paper whatsoever.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s crazy.” I wound the phone cord around my fingertip until my skin turned slightly purple.

“Everyone who’s anyone is upgrading to paperless,” he said, sounding way more excited than he normally does (which is ‘not very’). “Traditional business models are obsolete. You can't be left behind. Websites are the only way to go.”

“Oh, I actually have a website,” I blurted. The girls all looked at me in surprise. Did I have a website? No, I did not. But he didn’t have to know that. And everyone always says that you should find common ground when you’re talking to boys. I wasn’t lying, I was being – sing if you know the words – proactive.

“Really?” he asked, sounding all interested.

“Oh yeah, totally.”

“Wow, that’s great. That’s really great, Kelly.” I heard a voice in the background calling Ryan’s name. “Hey, that’s my mom calling me for dinner. But we’ll talk about your website tomorrow in English, okay?”

“Sure,” I said happily, giving the girls a thumbs-up. Pam clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Oh, and Kelly?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you’re moving in the right direction. That primitive phone-order stuff is poison. I wasn’t too sure about you before, but now I know that you’re okay.” I gulped and looked at Angela at that.

“Okay. See you tomorrow,” I told him before hanging up. Pam, Katy, and Karen erupted into cheers and I smiled and tried to cheer along. But I was feeling pretty conflicted. I didn’t want to be primitive. And I _really_ wanted Ryan to like me. But I didn’t think Angela would ever be up for modernization. Could I be part of the PSC _and_ Ryan’s girlfriend?

“ _Do_ you have a website?” Pam’s question jolted me back to the present.

“Of course not, don’t be silly,” I said.

“So…you lied,” Karen clarified. I waved my hand dismissively.

“Sometimes you have to tell boys little white lies for their own good,” I said. “You know, like, ‘of course my parents like you,’ or, ‘that’s not a cold sore, it’s a spider bite.’ Standard operating procedure.” Katy nodded in agreement, but Karen looked kind of disgusted.

“Besides,” I continued. “I don’t actually have to _have_ one. He’ll never go look at it, right?”

*****

“So what’s the URL?” Ryan asked as soon as he sat down in front of me in English the next day, pulling out his blackberry, ready to type something in.

“The what?” I asked blankly.

“The URL for your website. The address? What you type in at the top?” He looked at me suspiciously.

“Oh, right! Why do you need that?”

“So I can go look at it.” Oh crap, he wanted to _look_ at it?

“You can’t!” I blurted without thinking. He raised an eyebrow at me (it was kind of hot, if you want to know the truth). “It’s under construction, I mean.” I felt pretty proud of myself for how well I covered. “I don’t want you looking at it until it’s perfect. I’m improving it, adding, uh…cool stuff.”

“Like flash?” he asked.

“It’s…a surprise.”

“Cool,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “Let me know when it’s done and I’ll check it out.”

“Sure!” I nodded.

“It’s a good thing you’re focusing on this,” he said. “Much better than that club of yours. You’re going to quit that, right?”

“Oh,” I said. “Well…”

“Because you should. You can’t afford to split your attention, you know? The business model of the future is a jealous mistress.”

“Um, right,” I said uncertainly. Ms. Fleming started class and he turned around. I needed to think over this whole quitting thing. I mean…I didn’t want to quit the PSC. Did I? Maybe he was right, maybe it was interfering with my growth. Maybe it was keeping me from my true potential or something. I felt super confused, which kind of sucked since it was the last period of the day and that’s usually about when I _stop_ feeling confused and start feeling happy that I get to go home and do things that are less confusing than school, like painting my toenails and French braiding my hair.

Just before the end of class, he shoved a folded piece of notepaper on to my desk. Glancing up at the back of his head, I grabbed the paper and opened it up.

 _Hey,_ it said. _If you’re going to Homecoming this weekend, you should save me a dance._

I stared at the paper until the words swam before my eyes. Screw the PSC. I wanted a boyfriend. What I needed to do was focus on this website business. I definitely had to put one together now. But hey, no big. After all, how hard could setting up a website be?

*****

Turns out? Putting together a website could be pretty darn hard.

“You guys, does anyone know what CSS means?” I whined. Things weren’t going very well. I’d been working on it for almost two days and so far all I had was a white background and a headache.

“No, sorry, we’re not nerds,” Katy muttered. We were all hanging out in Angela’s rec room and she was grumpy that I was spending our PSC slumber party on the computer. She thought the whole webpage thing was stupid actually, but I think she was a little jealous that I was worried about impressing someone other than her. Pam told her to hush and flipped through a copy of _Coding for Dummies_.

“It says here you should embed the style in the HTML,” she reported.

“What does that even mean?” I cried in frustration.

“Hey, when’s dinner?” Karen asked. “All this web stuff is making me hungry.”

“Creed said he would be taking care of dinner,” Angela said absently. She was working on a batting line-up for her next softball game.

“What?” Katy exploded, sitting up straight. “No way! Last time Creed took care of dinner I was picking fur out of my teeth for two hours.”

“He was very excited about it!” Angela shot back. “I couldn’t very well tell him no.”

“Why not, that’s what you tell every other guy,” Katy grumbled.

“Hey!” Pam yelled before Angela could launch herself at Katy. “No fighting at the quarterly bonding event.” Angela’s grandmother, Nanny Phyllis, poked her head into the room. She’d recently moved in with Angela’s family to help raise the orphan they’d adopted from Korea, a boy named Annyong. I think the poor kid was mentally disabled, actually. The only thing he could say was his name.

“Do I hear raised voices?” she asked.

“Everything’s fine, Nanny Phyllis,” Angela said in a tired voice. I don’t think Angela gets along with her grandmother. They’re complete opposites. Nanny Phyllis is sweet and nice. Angela is not. Nanny Phyllis used to be a burlesque dancer. Angela thinks dancing is immoral, much like the townspeople in _Footloose_. It makes for a lot of friction.

“Oh no,” I said suddenly, looking down at the laptop. The screen had dimmed and the battery was about to die. “Angela, do you have a power cord that will work for this thing?”

“Downstairs in Creed’s office,” she said. “Come on.” I scrambled up and we trooped down the hall, leaving her grandmother with the other girls. Creed’s office was a mess. It looked like a museum storage room or something, full of papers and books and stuffed animals (not the cute, cuddly kind – the once-was-alive kind with glass eyes and claws). We searched around the mess for a while until Angela found a spare power cord in a drawer.

“Thank you, Angela, I take back every mean thing I ever said about you. Well. Most of the mean things.” She glared at me and wordlessly headed back to the rec room. When we opened the door, we saw everyone dancing and twisting around like crazy.

“This is how you get the tassels to go in different directions,” Nanny Phyllis said, moving in a way I would have thought was impossible for anyone with a ribcage.

“What tassels?” Karen asked, attempting to imitate the movement. Surprisingly, Pam was having the most luck with it. She looked like a pro.

“The ones on your-” Nanny Phyllis started, gesturing towards her chest, but Angela cut her off.

“Okay, that’s enough Nanny Phyllis, thank you!” she yelled, darting behind her grandmother and physically shoving her out the door. “Aw!” Katy, Pam, and Karen chorused in disappointment.

“Good night, girls!” Nanny Phyllis called as Angela pushed her past me and into the hall. “I can’t believe that priss is my granddaughter,” I heard her mutter as she headed upstairs.

“I am descended from scarlet women!” Angela cried as she slammed the door.

“Yes, and yet you still turned out like this. So sad how you went astray,” Katy commented. I plugged the laptop in and tried to get back to work, but Angela interrupted me with a question.

“Kelly,” Angela said. “How are you going to have time for the PSC if you’re busy with all this webpage nonsense?”

“Oh,” I said, stalling a little. This was the question I’d dreaded. “Well, I was thinking, actually. Maybe I should scale back on the paper-selling. Try other things. I mean, paper selling over the phone is kind of babyish. Traditional business models are obsolete and all that stuff.” They were all staring at me, open-mouthed.

“Obsolete?” Angela said, her voice dangerous.

“And babyish?” Katy repeated. “Are you suggesting that I would ever do something non-sophisticated and mature?”

“If the baby bonnet fits,” I shot back recklessly. This web design business was pretty stressful and I was just about at the end of my rope. Being proactive was turning out to be a lot of work. I turned my focus back to the laptop screen, but Katy leaned forward and snapped it shut.

“I cannot believe you’d ditch us for a boy,” she fumed. “That is such a skanky thing to do. He won’t like you any better if you turn yourself into him, you know.” _Skanky_? Where the heck did she get off? I opened my mouth to yell at her, but we were interrupted by Angela’s stepfather Creed walking in the door, wearing army camouflage and carrying a rifle and a whole lot of bloody, gross-looking squirrels by their tails.

“Okay, girls!” He exclaimed. “Who’s ready for kebabs?” We forgot our argument and stared after him as he disappeared out the door and into the kitchen, whistling happily.

“Gross,” I said, once I recovered.

“Disgust,” Katy agreed.

“Maybe we could order a pizza?” Pam suggested, hand already creeping towards the phone.

“They’re very high in protein!” Angela protested.

“I’m glad I’m a vegetarian,” Karen said.

*****

We managed to talk Creed into saving the squirrels for Christmas and ordered pizzas instead. Once the pizza arrived, we changed into our pajamas and gathered our sleeping bags on the floor in a circle for our traditional quarterly bonding event activity: Truth or Dare. So far Karen had said which of Angela’s brothers she would be most likely to marry (Mark), Angela had told us what sort of kissing she and Dwight did (“We don’t kiss at all because we are not actually dating, thank you very much, but if we did, it would be French kissing,” she’d said), Katy had mooned the boys next door, and Pam had admitted to letting Jim feel her up once at a movie theater.

“Okay, Kelly,” Pam said. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth, I guess.” Usually I go for the dare. There’s no point in asking me a truth question, when I share almost every thought with everyone as soon as it pops into my head. But I guess I wasn’t feeling all that daring. She looked at me for a while before she asked her question.

“Are you really thinking of leaving the PSC?” The room got all quiet and everyone was staring at me. I didn’t know what to say.

“Well,” I said finally. “Maybe I am. I mean, maybe I need to be a more well-rounded person, you know? And I want Ryan to like me. He thinks the way we sell paper is primitive and that I should focus on other things. And you know, maybe he’s right.” They were all looking at me sadly, even Angela, though her sadness looked a lot like furiousness.

“You guys all have boyfriends,” I said, looking at the floor. I traced designs into the carpet with my fingertip. That wasn’t strictly true. Karen didn’t, but I figured it wasn’t the time for semantics. “Ryan’s the best chance I’ve got. And he doesn’t think I should stay in the PSC.”

“Kelly-” Pam started, but I cut her off. I didn’t want to hear anything about _you don’t need a boy_. Easy for her to say, she _had_ one.

“Anyway, back to truth or dare,” I said. “Pam, your turn.” She looked like she wanted to say something more but wasn’t sure how to do it.

“Dare,” she finally decided with a sigh.

“I dare you to run once around the house naked,” I told her. She turned bright red.

“I can’t do that!” Pam cried. “Besides, this house is huge, it’d take me an hour.”

“Are you gonna back out of the dare?” Katy challenged. She hates it when people take the penalty. Pam sighed and shook her head. “Okay then, clothes off.” Just then a thumping noise came from the hall. Angela leapt up and yanked open the door. Her little brother David Wallace fell into the room.

“David Wallace, I am going to _kill_ you, you little pervert.”

“Can you do it after she takes her clothes off?” he asked, then yelped as Angela went for his throat. He tore off down the hall, Angela in hot pursuit. We could hear their shouts echoing up and down the marble hallway.

“Maybe we should play Boggle instead,” Pam suggested with a sigh.

******

My dance outfit was _perfect_. I was so excited to wear it I could have died. I’d been trying it on every day after school for the last week, standing on the toilet so I could get a good look at it in the mirror over the bathroom sink. I’d be wearing these darling aqua genie pants that were all billowy and pouffy (super great for fat days) with a beaded pink vest and a little aqua top that stopped a few inches above the genie pants. Now I know what you’re thinking: you’re thinking, _Kelly! A bare midriff? Are you insane?!_ And it’s true, bare midriffs aren’t for everyone – you shouldn’t risk them if you’re pudgy, pasty, freckly, wrinkly, too short, too tall, too young, or too old – but rest assured, I look _amazing_ so it’s okay. I topped the outfit off with a veil around my face, ankle bracelets, and a fez. I don’t like to brag, but it was about the most awesome outfit in the history of fashion except for some of that stuff Marie Antoinette wore, and maybe Princess Leia’s slave girl costume in _Return of the Jedi_.

“Isn’t it an Enchantment Under the _Sea_ dance?” Karen asked when she saw me. She and Katy and Pam were wearing mostly normal clothes. She had on seashell earrings, Pam’s skirt had embroidered mermaids on it, Katy was wearing glittery turquoise eyeshadow, a sarong, and a bikini top (totally filled out, too, that’s just how sophisticated and mature Katy is). None of the boys had dressed up at all. Jim and Roy looked normal, and Dwight just looked weird and dorky, which was normal for Dwight. He and Angela were pretending they weren’t there together, but Dwight loitered nearby, looking at Angela longingly and caressing the table between them. I don’t know why they think their relationship is a secret, because it is so not.

“How is that anything sea-like?” Karen continued.

“Genie bottles could get washed out to sea,” I told her coldly.

“I like it,” Pam decided. “She looks exotic. Don’t you think, Jim?” she asked him when he came back from the refreshments table with a cup of punch for her.

“Indeed,” he nodded. “And enchanting, so it actually fits with the theme really well.” He winked and I beamed at him. I could see why Pam was so gaga for him.

“Aw, you guys, thanks!” It occurred to me that Jim would never tell Pam she should leave the PSC, but I shoved that down. Now wasn’t the time for sentimentality or reason. I looked around the gym, trying to spot Ryan.

“There he is, there he is!” I hissed under my breath when I spotted him sitting by the bleachers. He was showing some 7th grade girl something on his blackberry. “You guys have to go away,” I told them. “Groups are intimidating, he won’t come talk to me if I’m surrounded. Go dance or something.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jim saluted. He steered Pam on to the dance floor. Roy escorted Katy to dance and Karen made herself scarce, heading to the other side of the gym to talk to some tough looking girls in black leather jackets. Only Angela remained. I gave her a questioning look.

“I have something to say to you,” she announced.

“What?” She drew in a deep breath, like what she was about to say would be difficult.

“I just would like to say that if I were someone who held a certain someone else in any regard and considered that person a friend, then I would tell that person that I think that anyone who really likes that person and who is worth liking back wouldn’t want that person to change into some other person.” I gaped at her. At first because I was trying to figure out exactly what she’d said, and then because it dawned on me that she was trying to be nice.

“Angela, you’re being nice to me,” I said in shock. She looked as surprised as I felt.

“I must have had some bad shrimp,” she muttered. “Anyway, that’s just how I feel. Do with it what you will.”

“Okay,” I said. On impulse, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and hugged her, even as she squirmed and protested. Her plate of cookies fell to the floor and was quickly trampled as she tried to get away.

“All right, that’s enough,” she said, pushing me away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need some fresh air.” She looked over at Dwight meaningfully as she said the last two words, then headed for the doors. After a minute, Dwight trailed obediently after her, like a faithful dog. I mulled over her words as I stood there, watching everyone dance. She had a point. If Ryan didn’t like me the way I was, what difference did it make if he liked me after I’d made a webpage for him? As I was considering this, he looked over and noticed me standing by the punchbowl. I tried to stay calm as he made his way over.

“Hi, Ryan!”

“Hey, Kelly.” He picked up a glass of punch and offered me one. “That outfit is…impressive.”

“Thank you!” I beamed. “I made most of it myself.”

“Neat,” he said. “So how’s that website coming?”

“Right, the website…” I said. This was the moment. I had to decide. Did I want Ryan? Or did I want my friends and the PSC? I took a deep breath. “About that. There’s no website. I lied and said I had one because I thought you’d like me better. And I’m not going to leave the PSC. I like our obsolete business model. So…you know. I just…thought you should know.” It was crazy, but I suddenly felt loads better now that I’d confessed.

“I see,” he said. “I’m sorry to hear that.” I could see on his face that he was kind of disappointed in me.

“So…did you still want to dance?” I asked hopefully. _If he liked he at all, he’d like me anyway,_ I reminded myself firmly.

“Hm, I don’t know,” he answered, looking away. “I told Cerie I’d dance with her. She’s got her own web archive.” He pointed at the girl he’d been talking to earlier. She was blonde and pretty. She probably wasn’t in any paper-selling clubs.

“Oh. Okay,” I said. There was my answer, I guess.

“But I’ll see you in class on Monday, okay?” he told me. I nodded. He started to walk away, but then he turned around. My heart leapt. Maybe he’d changed his mind. “Hey, by the way, do you have that Katy girl’s phone number? I hear she’ll do things even high school girls won’t do.”

“I…I…” I stammered.

“Ah, never mind,” he said as he drifted away. “I’ll get it from the directory. Talk to you later.” I stood there with my mouth hanging open as he and Cerie started dancing. The others stopped dancing and came back over.

“I take it that didn’t go well,” Pam said.

“He dumped me,” I told them, my disappointment quickly turning to outrage. “And then he asked for Katy’s number!”

“Wow, seriously?” Roy asked. “Dick move, man.” Angela glared at his language.

“Some guys are just jerks,” Jim said, squeezing my shoulder comfortingly. “What can you do?”

“I’ll tell you what I can do,” I told him. “I can be proactive.” I turned and found Ryan in the crowd and marched straight up to him.

“I think the internet’s only good for looking at pictures of cute boys,” I told him.

“O-okay,” he stammered, looking at me uncertainly.

“And I think RyanHowardInfinity.com sounds like a really stupid name. And you’re too short. And you look like a little kid playing a video game with that blackberry all the time, and you’re a jerk, and I’m going out with that guy over there, so how do you like that?” I grabbed the nearest guy, a big guy named Darryl who didn’t even go to our school but worked in the stockroom at the 7-11 down the street. By then everyone around us was watching us curiously.

“Isn’t that right, Darryl?” I said, and I kissed him right on the mouth. The people around gasped. Some of the girls even clapped.

“Sure, whatever you say,” he answered.

“So there,” I told Ryan, hands on my hips. My awesome, genie-costume-clad hips. I turned to Darryl, mouthed for him to call me, and marched back to my friends, who were cheering from the side of the gym.

“Good for you, Kelly!” Pam congratulated me with a hug as the others patted my back and shoulders.

“Better to love paper than some fickle, jerky boy,” I said.

“Loving paper would probably give you some really weird paper cuts, though,” Pam said thoughtfully. Everybody laughed, except Angela, who looked appalled.

“I don’t know what that means, but it’s probably filthy and disgusting. That boyfriend of yours is turning you into a foul-mouthed pervert.” Angela crossed her arms over her chest in digust.

“It’s true, I am,” Jim supplied helpfully. We all laughed. I resolved then and there, that I was going to find a boy as good as Jim. Someone funny and sweet and totally into me. And I wasn’t going to settle for just anyone. Maybe Jim had a brother.

“Hey there.” I looked up. It was Darryl.

“Oh, hi. Um, sorry about that.”

“Hey, baby, you gotta do what you gotta do. And if you want to do it again, here’s my card.” He pressed a business card into my hand. I held it up and looked at it. It was handwritten with a sharpie and said, “Darryl Philbin, 7-11 Inventory Specialist.”

“Give me a holler any time.” He winked at me and walked away. I smiled happily. I guess my original theory was wrong. I wasn’t too awesome for boys. I was just too awesome for boys like Ryan.

“Whoa,” Karen said. “Maybe _I_ should start being proactive.”

“I’ll give you lessons,” I told her with a grin. I had good reason to grin, after all. Everything was coming up Kelly.


End file.
